


I would have listened

by TwistedNym



Series: Some of us die young [2]
Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedNym/pseuds/TwistedNym
Summary: So, what's your catch?" Thomas asks."My catch?" "Yeah." Thomas fingers brush patterns over Maven's shoulder. "You're good looking, you can be nice and cutesy. But people treat you like you are something else. And you don't look like someone burning down a house. So what's your dark secret?"





	I would have listened

It's not like they are dating. They aren't even really doing much.  
As far as he is concerned, they are just hanging out.  
But it's still pleasant and Thomas hasn't had pleasant in a while.

As promised he lurks around the parking lot. Kicking an empty plastic cup over the asphalt. He doesn't want to get too close to the building. No one would really bother. Not if he stays down. Maybe someone calls security if he's too smelly and homeless looking. But that isn't the reason why. He hates the building with passion because it stole precious time of his life. And much more.

It just shows the difference again. The difference that makes one life harder at birth and another easier.

It's a little awkward at first because Thomas has no clue what to do or say. Which is a first? Flirting doesn't seem to be a viable option. Flings have been easy for him. It's not like he ever tried to really stay with someone past a kiss or a flirt. Most people wouldn't even be comfortable enough. Because of closets and skeletons, or whatever the saying.

Thomas can brave himself with a long list of crimes and dirty tricks...None are particularly helpful now.

The first minutes are spent in silence and he is pretty sure he fucked it up already.

"I didn't think you would come." Maven's voice suddenly says and Thomas ducks a little.

He's tousled and pretty. Pale and stern. Uncomfortable, almost. Thomas can empathize.

"Yeah, me neither." He answers. "But here we are, Mave."

The cars are slowly disappearing, one after another, and they wander around the empty parking lot in circles until Thomas realizes how stupid that is. Instead thy sit down on a bench and again the silence is deafening. Watching the street, their eyes don't meet.

"So," Thomas says.

"So?" Maven asks.

Thomas opens his mouth.

Air comes out.

Yay.

He _hates_ his life.

They watch cars drift by in the evening traffic. A blur of monochrome metal and orange light reflected. The air is a warm breeze kissing their skins. Thomas skinny arms are tanned and burned from the heat, scorched on his shoulders and neck. He knows he looks shabby. He knows he's probably taking all of this the wrong way.

And the silence stretches.

"Man," Thomas mutters finally. "Do I suck at this."

Something in his face paints the smallest of smiles on Maven's lips. It is pretty. Sharp features turning slightly softer. Thomas wonders how he'd look if he was laughing, fully loosing himself in some sort of joy. He can only imagine it to be the prettiest thing ever.  
"Yes. But that's mutual."

He shrugs it off but it's very endearing. So endearing. Too endearing.  
"Why tho? We're just hanging out."

"I don't hang out." Maven offers, shifting uncomfortably. "That's a first. You should have seen the expression my brother made when I said I was meeting someone."

"Can't imagine that," Thomas answers, leaning back with his arms behind his head. "And for once I meant that. How is your family?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"That's fine. I'm not really a family expert anyway." _Understatement of the year award goes to Thomas!_

Maven bristles for a moment before he decides to ask. "Are your parents still alive?"

"Yeah, I think someone would have told me if they weren't. My sisters or cousins or even just neighbors."

"But you don't live with them anymore?"

"Not since that counseling started," Thomas admits and counts the weeks. He hasn't been home the whole summer. Strange. Feels like a lifetime.

It hurts. There are shame and guilt, mixed with the hot flaming spit of anger and sorrow.

"Were they ..?"

"Hitting me?" Thomas finishes the sentence. "Hell no. They are damn sweet and never raised their hands once, no matter what I did."

"But why leave?" There seems something confusing as for why one would even want to leave.

"Have you ever been to the Stilts?" Thomas asks, glaring at Maven. He thinks of the hunger, the dirt and the misery and cannot stop himself from gritting his teeth. It's not exactly Mavens fault life is like that, but he's one of them and as much as Thomas wants to forget that, he really can't. It's stuck in the back of his head.

Maven glares away, evading Thomas gaze. "No, not directly but-"

"Thought so, pretty boy. " Thomas scoffs softly. "Lemme just make it clear. Anyone that can LEAVES. I just happened to get in trouble too. Better my parents don't have to witness that. Two for one, you could say."

* * *

Oh, trouble, Thomas best friend and secret lover. He can always taste it on the tip of his tongue. If someone would ask how exactly trouble tastes, Thomas would lick his lips and say it's an odd mix of popcorn and blood. Sweet and sticky for the high reward and coppery for all the beatings.

He tastes the copper part when he appears on Diana Farley's doorstep that night. Lights are still on and there are voices.

Farley lets him in with a look that indicates he looks as bad as he feels. That's life on the streets. You don't get anything. Thomas usually has become good at running and hiding, but really, you can't help it, especially in the middle of the night at some bus stop. The place looked cozy. The place was cozy. For someone else, in the end.  
He once watched some homeless dudes rob another, they got him pretty bad with a bottle. Looking at the bruises on his body and the dirt on his clothes, he is lucky.

"Pissed someone off again, Tom?" a voice asks when he has decided boneless flopping on the couch is acceptable. Thomas turns his eyes. He's too lazy to turn actually around. Upside down hanging from the couch he sees Tristan, just casually chilling in the doorframe.

 _My ginger bestie_ , Thomas thinks, full of love.  
If anyone is really into that rebellion shtick, Tristan is one of them. They get along, somehow. Thomas is fairly sure it is because of his charming personality. Or because he pretends to listen when all he really does is nodding and eating nachos.

"Is that a gun right there in your pants or are you happy to see me?" Thomas asks, deciding it not worth it to even answer the question. "If I'd known you were into me I could have made dinner."

"Hate to disappoint," He pulls up his shirt and Thomas whistles when he sees that this guy seriously brought a gun.

"Don't shoot yourself in the foot." Thomas is not one hundred percent against guns. He's just not happy to be close. Not with someone that seems to be trigger happy, hand glued to the gun now.

"I have practice," Tristan informs him.

Staring in this upside down positioning makes him dizzy. He finally gives up, sitting straight and feeling the blood rushing through his body.

"Huh. Well good for you. But seriously, don't shoot in anyone's foot because you wanna prove it. I've had my cut of violence for this week."

"Don't wave it around like that." Farley almost orders, and Tristan complies, silent. If anyone has a grip on her followers, it's Farley.

Thomas gets a blanket and a good night burrito. He's not in the mood to play along and Farley lets him. The squad huddles together in her kitchen and he hears them talk a while before he drifts out.

Well, curiosity cooked the cat or something. Thomas will probably turn up roasted nicely one day because he can't stop. He really doesn't want to know why Tristan has a gun and what they plan.

All he wants is someone to cuddle and annoy occasionally. Maybe not exactly a boyfriend but not just a booty call. Not that that would be easy without a phone.

Either way, cuddle and annoy it is. He's positive he can make that work somehow, with a certain someone. Or so he hopes.

 _Gotta play my cards better this time,_ he thinks. No more Stilts or parents talk.

* * *

They meet on that stupid parking lot one more time, and it's a little better than before. No weird family talk, just his cutesy old self-cracking jokes. They even go into the park and eat. Maven watches Thomas inhale his food when he takes all but two bites. He even offers his food to Thomas. Thomas wants to kiss him right here, but making out with a greasy, food snorting homeless dude on a bench, watched by pigeons, no, not the most romantic thing.

 _Maybe next time_ , he thinks to himself.

Another week goes by before Thomas decides to face his fear and takes the steps up, right into the cannibalized monster made of dark glass. Nothing has changed, really. He knows the way down the halls, he knows the door. Even the smell is the same. Makes his toenails curl.

The door is open and the round of chairs half full. Some familiar faces. He doesn't say anything. Just leans close and waits. His eyes find a familiar blue dressed back, hunched over slightly.

He doesn't want to make things weird. For all Thomas knows, Maven could say things he doesn't want Thomas to know. Also, it's better to just leave and not draw any suspicion or trouble. It's bad enough for the pretty boy he agreed to hang out. Thomas is sure he gets a lot of shit by a lot of people already.

"Impressive." Maven says when he moves out and sees Thomas leaning on the cold naked stone wall.

His voice is so dry Thomas just blinks, waiting.

"You didn't burst up in flames when you stepped in."

That makes him laugh. He laughs louder than usual cause his heart is still racing and his pulse is a staccato in his ears.

"I thought I had imagined you had humor, pretty boy."

Something close to a frown crosses Mavens face. "Just stop calling me that."

"But I like calling you that!" Thomas protests. "No one is stopping you from returning the compliment, by the way."

Another frown. Then Maven just turns around to leave. Thomas laughs again before he hurries to catch up.

"Got plans or just want to hang out?"

"Plans, actually." He looks back and seems pleased that Thomas is cleanly dressed. Though the boots are shabby and the pants are too big with holes, like always. He wears a shirt someone left at Farley's, a clock on it. The owner has added red lines and political messages to it.  
_Cut the symbolism down, girls,_ he thinks the first time he wears it. But it's a cozy shirt and the last clean one. Just one tiny hole under his arm. Compared to Maven he still looks odd and piss poor. Luckily he never says a word and Thomas swallows whatever he wants to say about it.

The bookstore is small. It smells like paper and dust. Thomas immediately notices how quiet it is between the rows and tables stacked with comics and books.

Maven moves further, disappearing behind a shelf. Thomas is unsure if he wants to follow. Last time he read a book was elementary school. He can read, for the better part, that's not true for everyone born in the Stilts, and he's not the worst at it. He just doesn't really like it.

He strolls along the shelves in the front. The owner watches him, but he doesn't say a word. Thomas isn't ripping pages out of books or anything ridiculous.

There's a book with a maroon colored envelope. It's one of those empty notebooks. Thomas touches the paper and it feels good. A pencil and a proper hand could make nice sketches. It's the kind of book he likes. One that fills itself with stuff instead of expecting him to pick it up in hard work.

When he turns around, he finds Maven watching.

There's a bunch of comics stuffed under his arm, and it's the geekiest but probably also the cutest thing ever.

"Found something, I see."

"Do you want that book?"

Thomas pulls his hand back as if the envelope has caught fire.

"Nah. Was just looking."

"I could-"

"I don't want to own you money, Mave." _Please let's not go there._

The maroon colored sketchbook is forgotten, at least by Thomas, as soon as he turns away. If he'd whine over everything he can't afford, he would whine all day.

Maven is frowning at him again, but he doesn't say anything.

"So, pretty boy," Thomas tries to give his voice a lightness he doesn't feel. The doorbell rings as they step out. "What now? Wanna sit down? Or do you have somewhere else to go?"

"I hate shopping. So finding a bench sounds nice."

"I know a cozy place by the water." Thomas sees the wrinkled nose, the distaste at the thought of moving through the crowd. He offers a hand. He doesn't even know why. Maven isn't the type for public affection, clearly. And they don't even know each other that well.  
And then, of course, there is still the blood question.  
Maven doesn't take his hand and Thomas has anticipated the outcome.

When they finally make their way over the street and down a pair of stairs, the thinned out crowd promises some quiet time. Thomas hops on a bench close to the river. He's slept here before. It's nice, really. The splashing sound of the small waves that hits the stones. The distance between the street sounds and them, just a jump up the stairs but so far away.

He's surprised when a hand brushes his, but he takes it and doesn't ask. They just sit by the water and hold tightly onto each other.

"I don't really like owing people. It's nothing personal, Mave."

"You wouldn't owe me."

"I would, in some sense. And I couldn't pay it back." He thinks of all the times he owes blasted Diana Farley and Shade Barrow for them bailing him out or just feeding him, letting him stay somewhere. It's still different from them because he knows they wouldn't spend money on something wasted like a sketchbook.

Thomas lets go of the hand but only so he can pull Maven right beside him. There's no protest.

Funny enough, the hollow of his neck is the perfect fit for Mavens' head. Thomas takes a deep breath and finds it unfair he even smells so nice.

It's nice to have someone to lean on. Thomas knows when they move up the street again they'll both keep distance. If someone sees two guys holding hands, it could be bad enough. A silver and a shabby red? No thanks. The world really isn't nice enough for that.

If someone looks down or stares at them from the bridge in the distance now, they are just two blurry shades, one dressed black, the other blue, and it's alright.

"So, what's your catch?" Thomas asks.

"My catch?"

"Yeah." Thomas' fingers brush patterns over Maven's shoulder. "You're good-looking, you can be nice and cutesy. But people treat you like you are something else. And you don't look like someone burning down a house. So what's your dark secret?"

"Do people need a dark secret to lose control?"

"You call that a slip, but I'd say you have it happen more than once. Some weeks you look super shitty. And that's coming from the homeless dude."

"I'd rather not talk about it." Maven retreats. Both mentally and physically.

The clam is up and closed again.

Thomas misses the warmth of another body already. "Your choice, Mave. I'd have listened."

"Yes." Maven puts his hands in his pockets. " And then you'd laugh it up and leave."

Thomas thinks about denying that. But he can't rule it out. So he doesn't say anything and they sit, each one on one side of the bench.  
Some days later he finds himself on the bench again. Water rushes by. But this time Maven is pacing a little.

"The hell are you nervous about?" Thomas snorts. "You look like you've been seriously overthinking something. Got that overclocked computer look you always get when you can't decide what you wanna do."

Maven shuffles his feet. But no answer.

"Mave, what's up? I'm starting to worry. Did you get any troubles for hanging out?"

Thomas doesn't get up from the bench. He just pulls back his legs a little. So the far end is free to sit if Maven feels like it. Right now he's not looking like he's done pacing. Leaning back, using his bag as a pillow, he watches. Watching that has its own advantages as well. Mainly physical ones, but hey, only human and stuff.  
_If it's a crime watching cute boys getting all caught up and adorable, lock me up, Officer._

Maven pulls out a bag. It's a white plastic bag, plain and simple. "I've got something for you."

"Aww, is it food? You always bring the best leftovers."

"It's not, actually." There is an edge in that small voice and Thomas gets up.

"I didn't get you anything, Mave," Thomas says, scratching his chin.

"I know you didn't want to owe me, but please refrain from cursing until you've opened it." That gets Thomas attention. He sits up and takes the bag.

"I fucking hate you for this," Thomas says, gritting his teeth.

He pulls the plastic bag open and sees a maroon colored envelope.

"Yeah," Thomas repeats. "I fucking hate you. Like, really. Like, I told you not to, and you did. Why am I even talking? Not like I was opening up or shit."

Despite every other uncomfortable frown and all the insecurities, Maven doesn't budge now. His face says nothing. It's as cold as the first day in counseling when the guy asked about his family. "You like drawing, I like you."

Thomas shoves the bag away to the other side of the bench and doesn't want to look at it. He also doesn't want to look at Maven. "And now what? I have to be all grateful and kiss your fancy silver feet? You got money, good for you. I don't."

"I didn't buy it so you'd have to be grateful. That's stupid." There are angry silver splotches appearing on Maven's cheeks and it has never been more obvious they aren't the same to Thomas. And it freaking hurts.

Thomas blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Yeah thanks, something else you want to add to the list? Stupid, poor red dude stealing your time. But hey, we are good at stealing stuff, so no worries."

"You're insufferable. I wanted to be nice."

Money is a sore spot. But someone born with a silver spoon wouldn't understand.

It's distasteful, really, because Thomas just thinks of the starving faces of his little sister or the scarce resources of the Barrows that makes the girl go on a spree to steal.

If they get caught they are done.

It's jail and goodbye. Because whatever people don't say on the streets, it's clear that your blood matters. The color of it decides about your chances in life.

"Buying someone stuff who doesn't want it is an asshole move and NOT nice. Now excuse me while I- I have to fucking sort this out in my head. UGH."

He gives the bag and the bench a kick and leaves.

He doesn't go back after a few minutes. He doesn't go to the parking lot next week. He just wants to forget this ever happened.

 


End file.
